Running From the Devil
by Aislinn Graves
Summary: Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is keep on living.  ::Strong language and content warning on chapter 4::
1. Chapter 1

Running from the Devil

By Aislinn

_Sara Larabee rose to her full five foot two inch height and stuck her finger into her spouse's chest. "Now you just listen up you dumb cowboy! How dare you use me as an excuse to wall yourself off from others! I won't have it Christopher Michael Larabee_!"

Chris sat up with a jerk. The dream had been so vivid. Her voice echoed in his heart and he could almost smell her perfume. He broke out in a cold sweat. He rolled off the couch and stumbled to the kitchen. He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the counter only to find it empty. With a strangled curse he flung the bottle across the room. It shattered on the far wall spraying the room with shrapnel. Shards that sparkled like her eyes had. He fell to his knees groaning in agony. He curled up on the floor wishing he had the courage to simply end it.

"_Courage? Really Chris? Courage? Would you care to explain to me how killing yourself would be an example of courage? Cause, I personally just don't see it."_ _Her voice dripped with disdain and disappointment._

"Sara," he whispered. "How can I go on without you?"

_Suddenly her voice gentled and she brushed a soft kiss on his forehead. __"Oh love, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is keep on living."_

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A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Jan. 2011


	2. Chapter 2

Running From the Devil – JD

He stood on the bridge overlooking the Charles River. Ice floated by and a chill wind whistled through the barren branches of the trees. His thoughts raced in circles like tiny mice trapped in a jar.

Only one day since his mother's death and the master had already had their rooms cleaned out.

He had returned from the undertaker to find all their worldly goods in a box and himself discharged. Cook had patted his shoulder in sympathy and whispered that he looked too much like the late master for their current one to be comfortable. JD snorted sardonically. He was well aware of the master's opinion of his mother, "Irish girl no better than she ought to be." was the nicest thing he had said about her. As if their father had given her any choice in the matter.

The money his mother had so lovingly saved up wasn't enough to send him to college, and only a small amount was left after paying the doctor and the undertaker. So here he was in the dead of winter, tossed out of his home, with no way to support himself if his half brother had any say in the matter. JD bowed his head and watched as the river flowed by; it would be so easy, just one small step and no more pain.

A slight sound caught his attention and he turned his head. Wild hair hung over tired eyes that stared at him with compassionate understanding. The man was dressed in tattered clothing, thread bared areas overlapped to try and protect his thin frame from the bitter wind. His feet were stuffed into battered boots that were wrapped with strips of cloth holding the soles to the uppers, and the stench of poverty hung over him like a cloak. "Spare some change?" he asked huskily.

JD stepped back from the edge and pulled some money from his pocket. He handed it to the man and smiled shakily.

"Thank you son. A hot meal will be a blessing."

JD's breath caught. It had been so long since he had thought of blessings. A thin ray of sunshine broke through the clouds and bathed the river in light. It sparkled off the ice throwing a rainbow of colors across the bank.

"Ya know son, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is keep on living, and you don't look like no coward to me."

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Despair is an insidious thing. It coils up in your heart and ambushes you at your most vulnerable, but you can fight it and come out the other side, battered and bruised, but victorious.

A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Jan. 2011


	3. Chapter 3

Running From the Devil – Vin

Vin knelt among the bodies of his slaughtered family and wept. He gathered his little sister up in his arms, and rocked her cold form. Little Deer had not gone easy. Her buckskin dress was slit from neck to hem and the blood and semen smeared on her pale thighs was mute testimony to the horror of her last moments. He threw his head back and screamed his agony to the stars.

Dawn found him still on his knees, his eyes all but swollen shut and nothing left of his voice but a whisper. He staggered to his feet, still clutching her to his chest. He smeared ashes from the last fire his foster mother had lit down one side of his face in mourning. Then one by one he dragged his family out onto the plain and hefted their remains up onto a burial platform. Tradition demanded a new platform for each of them but he didn't have the resources or the time so he used what he had. He gently covered them with a buffalo robe and sang the deathsong through lips cracked and bleeding, the melody barely heard over the sound of the wind in the grass. At last he could sing no more and he stood swaying in exhaustion. He pulled his knife from the sheath Little Deer had given him and stared at it dully. He kept it sharp enough to wound the wind so it wouldn't take much pressure to open a vein and join his family. He thought about his mothers. One the woman that had given birth to him and been taken far to soon, the other a woman of the people who found a lost child and taken him for her own.

_"You listen to me boy! Now baby, I am gonna have to leave you. I don't want to but the Lord is calling me home, son, and I want you to be brave." His blue eyes, so like his father's, filled with tears, spilling down wan cheeks. The child had exhausted himself trying to care for her, carrying a burden much too large for his five-year-old shoulders. She pulled him close and kissed his forehead. "Vin, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is keep on living. Remember that, and remember, you're a Tanner and you hold fast to that son, you're a Tanner, and I am very proud of you"_

Her voice echoed through his heart, joined by that of his other mother.

_"Be brave, my Falcon."_

He straightened his shoulders, and made his way back to the ruined camp. There was much to do and many preparations to be made before he went on the hunt. He took his knife and made a careful shallow cut across his palm. He slammed his knife back into it's sheath and held his hand out over the central fire pit, his blood dripped down to join that of his tribe. "I will avenge you," he swore. "No matter how long it takes. They will pay my tiwahe. I give you my word as a Tanner."

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Lakota - Tiwahe ~ Family

A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Feb. 11, 2011


	4. Chapter 4

Running From the Devil ~ Ezra

Ezra crouched, his arms wrapped around his thin middle. He shivered with cold and terror. He stifled his sobs, praying this time his uncle would pass out before he found him. He wedged his small frame deeper into the woodpile, wincing as the bark scratched his already bruised and battered body.

"Ezra, git yer fucking ass out here now boy!" The man bellowed. He ran the razor strap lovingly through his large hands. "You make me come in there to get ya, yer gonna regret it you ungrateful lil' pissant." He upended the bottle and took another swig of whiskey, shuddering as the rotgut burned all the way down. He held up the empty bottle and grinned fiercely, then threw the bottle at the woodpile and laughed as it exploded into a million shards.

Ezra jumped to his feet, dashing for the wood line. He pounded down the path desperately trying to stay in front of his tormenter, forcing air into tortured lungs hampered by cracked ribs sustained in the last beating. He screamed as his uncle grabbed him by the hair jerking him to a halt. Curling into a ball he desperately tried to protect his ribs as he was thrown the ground. His uncle kicked him, lashing his back and head with the razor strap. He screamed again as he felt the man's hands fumbling at his pants. Pushing himself to his knees he frantically tried to scramble away, to escape, but his uncle slammed his head into the ground, grinding his nose into the dirt until he could barely breath.

The man pushed him onto his belly holding him down with a knee in the small of his back. He dragged Ezra's pants down to his knees hobbling him and ran a heavy hand down his flank.

Ezra shuddered, nausea welling up in his gut. He squirmed trying to get away but his movement simply fueled the man's anger and he jerked Ezra's head up by his hair arching his back. He laughed as the boy's agonized cries echoed through the woods, but no one came to his rescue.

Tabitha snuck out of the shack and padded down the path toward the river. She watched warily making sure neither the master nor the overseer saw her. She knew she had to get to the child before he died of exposure. She winced when she saw the wreck the master had made of his young nephew. He had left the child sprawled in the path like a rag doll, beaten and bloodied in the aftermath of the brutal rape. She crouched down and gathered the boy up, lifting him with ease and carried him back to her hut. She put him into her bed and gently brushed his hair back. "Oh chile, ya just hang on now and mammy Tabitha take good care of ya." She tenderly bathed the battered frame and gentled the boy when he woke terrified and frantic. She wept at the despair she saw in his green eyes. "I know what yer thinking chile but yer wrong! There is another way out ifen ya have the courage to take it. Ifen ya take that way he wins. Ya don't want him to win do ya?" She smiled as he shook his head. "Sometime boy, the bravest thing ya can do is keep on livin. Now ya want to take that ride on the Underground Railroad or not?" She smiled in triumph as the boy squared his shoulders and a new defiant look flooded his eyes.

A month later Ezra stepped down from the wagon and glanced warily around. Seeing no sign of trouble he turned and helped Miss Tabitha down and spoke softly to her. "They said our next contact is at the blacksmith shop."

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The subject matter made this one extremely difficult to write but Jessie was with me every keystroke and I am profoundly grateful for her friendship. She has made me stretch my skills and my courage as a writer and she doesn't let me get away with taking the easy road. Therefore this story is dedicated to her. Salute mon ami.

A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more and in my opinion should be arrested for character neglect, so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Feb. 11, 2011


	5. Chapter 5

Running From the Devil- Josiah

Josiah stared at his battered, swollen hands in confusion. They ached and he was sure at least one or two of his knuckles were broken. He gingerly scooted back on the bunk until his back was supported by the wall, and looked around. He was in a small jail cell but for the life of him he couldn't remember how he had come to be there or why.

_Pain flares as he feels his nose break and a splatter of blood all but blinds him. Fury and savage wildness surges though his heart. He strikes out wildly; the snap of breaking bones and a cacophony of voices drown out the wild beating of his heart._

He winced as the pounding in his head matched his heartbeat. His gut roiled and he hung his head desperately trying to control his nausea. He opened his eyes and suddenly noticed his shirt was covered in dried bloodstains. "Hello?" he called.

A scrape and thump from the front room followed his tentative greeting. A sheriff appeared in the doorway and stared at him dispassionately. "Finally awake are ya? 'Bout time. Was startin' to wonder whether you was ever gonna wake up."

"How long?" Josiah asked him huskily. He cleared his throat suddenly conscious of a furious thirst. "Can I have some water?"

The sheriff turned back to the front room and returned with a dipper of water. He handed it to him through the bars and waited while Josiah drank it slowly, letting it trickle down his throat a little at time so he didn't throw it back up.

When he was done he handed the dipper back with a nod of appreciation. "Why am I in here? Sheriff…?"

"Sheriff Cooper. Which question you want answered first?"

"How long have I been in here?"

"Two days."

"Why am I here?"

The man studied him gravely as if trying to decide how much to tell him. "Ya don't remember?"

_Sheriff Cooper enters the saloon drawn by the riot of sound. Five men hang on for dear life keeping one of their fellows from a battered wreck of a man on the ground. A woman kneels beside the body, her dress ripped and bloodstained, her hair tangled and falling into her face. She is battered, blood smears from the split lip and broken nose make her face a macabre mask, and old, yellowing bruises peek through the rents in her dress. And yet she weeps for the man…or maybe she cries in relief._

Josiah stared at him in consternation. "No."

Cooper frowned. "Mister ya beat a man to death with yer bare hands. Now it were self defense but he had kin and they got a powerful mad on. Yer in here as much for yer protection as anything 'cause I don't mean to have no hemp party in my town." He smiled suddenly. "Leastways not without a proper trial. Course that ain't needed with ya. 'Nough folks saw what happened and couple of 'em even honest folk. So yer in the clear. But mister when I let you outta this jail cell I suggest ya light a shuck and get yer ass on down the trail."

He stopped talking as Josiah sank back on the bunk. He watched as guilt and horror blended in his prisoner's eyes followed by despair as the realization of what he had done sank in.

_Once again drink and the wildness he battles daily have met and he has fallen. Cain's blood wins out and the demon waging war for his soul is victorious this time._

"Mister. He didn't give ya a choice. Ifen ya didn't fight he woulda kilt ya."

"We always have a choice, Sheriff." He said flatly.

_Eye for an eye the Word says, and a life for a life._

"Yer right; we do, but guilt can be misplaced and ya'd do well to keep that in mind. The man ya kilt was a bad man and the onliest reason he weren't swingin was folks was too scarted to talk."

Josiah shook his head bleakly. "Murder is still a sin and…"

Cooper cut him off sharply. "Mister I'm telling ya, it weren't murder! But if yer so all fired ready to go do penance why don'tcha do it by helping folks stead a doing whatever is running through yer mind right now." He gave Josiah a knowing look. "Sometimes the bravest thing a man can do is keep on livin'. Just remember, a dead man cain't fix nothin' an that kin a his ain't nowhere near a forgivin' bunch."

He smiled as Josiah's head came up at that and he could tell he had gotten through to the big man. He leaned over and unlocked the cell door. "Yer horse and gear is out the side door there. I hear tell that Colorado territory is nice this time a year."

Josiah stepped out of the cell and looked down at the Sheriff. He held his hand out and smiled as Cooper shook it. "Thank you Sheriff Cooper, maybe I'll go check it out then."

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Hemp Party ~ lynching

A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more and in my opinion should be arrested for character neglect, so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Feb. 11, 2011


	6. Chapter 6

Running From the Devil – Nathan

The distinctive smell of cordite and blood hung in the air and the constant thunder of artillery and the screams of the injured echoed throughout the camp battering the senses of the men. Nathan got a better grip on the stretcher and carried yet another victim into the tent. All around him doctors frantically tried to snatch yet another life from the arms of death. Nathan stared with dull eyes around the tent looking for a doctor who wasn't elbow deep in someone's body. He settled on one man in the far corner who stood swaying in exhaustion, blood smeared across his face where he had attempted to wipe away sweat. The tent was a miserable place at the best of times but the heat of the late August sun turned it into a hell on earth. Nathan carefully maneuvered through the narrow isles and he and his partner gently put the stretcher down on the makeshift table. "Got another one for ya doc." He said. He placed a gentle hand on the doctor's shoulder and grimaced in sympathy at the faint shudders he could feel running through the doctor's thin frame. "Doc? When was the last time ya slept?"

Doctor Stevens blinked. "Slept?"

A hoarse yell from outside caught Nathan's attention and he blanched. "Camp's being hit!" Nathan snagged the doctor's arm and dragged him to the rear of the tent. He leaned down and cut a hole in the canvas and shoved the doctor through it. Catching his partner's arm he pulled the boy through the hole as well and the three fled into the underbrush. Fear clawed at his gut as Rebel yells screamed behind them and the staccato beat of gunfire and the whistle of minie balls filled the air. Nathan hugged the ground and low crawled deeper into the brush following Stevens. A strangled cry behind him let him know his partner had been hit and he turned to help him only to find sightless eyes staring into his. Nathan bowed his head and muttered a quick prayer as he scrambled to catch up to the doctor. He skidded to a halt at the edge of a small gully. The doctor squatted on the ledge waiting for him. Nathan caught his arm urgently. "Doc, ya gotta make me a promise. I can't let 'em take me alive. If we are captured or I get hit you gotta promise you'll shoot me. "

Stevens stared at him in shock. "Nathan, what the hell are you saying?"

"I am a run away slave. Do you know what they do to my kind? I ain't going back, Doc. I'd rather die." He stated bleakly,

The doctor searched his eyes compassionately. "Nathan, sometimes the bravest thing we can do is keep on living."

"Ain't bout courage Doc. I reckon I can face pain, but I ain't gonna live with no collar round my neck again. I'll live or die a free man. Now promise and let's get outta here.

Stevens nodded. "All right Nathan, I promise." He smiled slightly at Nathan's obvious relief and the two men, dropped down into the gully and splashed their way upstream away from the battle.

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A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more and in my opinion should be arrested for character neglect, so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Feb. 11, 2011


	7. Chapter 7

Running From the Devil – Buck

She had never met anyone quite like this boy before. Only fifteen but Buck Wilmington already had a man's height and carried a man's guns. And if all he had on his cheeks was peach-fuzz at least his shoulders where broad and his hips narrow. The joy of living sparkled in his deep blue eyes and his laughter filled a room. It was that joy that drew her like a moth to flame. Gradually over a year a friendship formed between the boy on the cusp of manhood and the woman who teetered on the edge of sanity. She learned to trust his gentleness and her battered soul basked in his warmth and strength.

It was late one night by the light of the full moon that he found her perched on the roof. He crawled up next to her and sat, knees tucked up and his strong hands lightly clasped in front of him.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He sat patiently waiting, staring up at the moon.

"She would be four today," she said. Silent tears ran down her face leaving silver tracks in the moonlight. "Robert didn't want to wait for a wagon train, so we went alone. We almost made it too, but the renegades found us first and Robert trusted them because they were white." Despair thickened her voice.

Buck scooted nearer and draped a supportive arm around her shoulders. She flinched and he froze until he finally felt her relax. He pulled her close until she was nestled in his arms, head tucked under his chin. Minute shudders shook her thin body as he rocked her gently. "What happened?" he asked softly.

He had to strain to hear her answer. "They shot Robert as he stepped forward to greet them and when they found Anne in the wagon, they shot her too. And each and every one of them took their turn with me and then they took everything of value we had and left me for dead."

He rested his chin on the top of her head and she felt his tears dampening her hair.

"It's been a year now without them and I can't do this any more." She felt his denial as he held her tighter.

She pushed away from him, suddenly frantic to escape. "I want my family, I want it to be over and I am so damn tired of being scared." She sobbed.

Buck reached down and gently cradled her face. "Oh darlin, sometimes the bravest thing you can do is keep on living. You are one of the strongest ladies I have ever known and I am truly grateful that you're my friend." He drew her again into the comfort of his arms and held her while she wept.

Dawn came at last and she stirred. Her heart felt lighter for having purged the poison of despair she had carried for so long. She turned in his arms and gazed in wonder at this man God had seen fit to send her when she needed him most. She pressed a grateful kiss on his cheek.

He blushed and helped her to her feet and down the roofline to the window. He crawled back inside and leaned out to help her. Once safely inside he saw her to her room and there he tucked her into bed. He leaned down and brushed a tender kiss on her forehead. "Sleep darlin. Things will be better when ya wake." He smiled and tipped his hat and slipped out the door as she drifted into a healing sleep.

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Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30: 5b

To everyone who took a moment out of their busy day to review this story arc my deepest thanks. Your words of encouragement have made my day.

I tried to write Buck's story like the others but the man just flat out refused to be depressed. It wasn't until I turned the story on its head that it started to flow.

A special thank you to my betas DeckerM and Jessie. Without you this story would still be nothing but an idea, therefore this story arc is dedicated to Jessie and Mary. Ladies, your friendship and encouragement is a treasure worth far more than rubies.

Not mine, but the alphabet people didn't want them any more and in my opinion should be arrested for character neglect, so I am sneaking them out the back door to my place.

Feb. 19, 2011


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